Silver, Smiles and Expectations
by demonswithtea
Summary: Defence Against the Dark Arts comes naturally to Alfred Jones, to Arthur's dismay. Faced with the prospect of failing his first class, Arthur has to swallow his pride and ask his sworn rival for help with the Patronus Charm. Pottertalia Universe. One sided USUK.
For all those who follow our Pottertalia cosplay series on youtube, this story takes place MUCH later than we have filmed up to. Alfred and Arthur have a fairly rocky relationship at this stage, but they are on much better terms than they were post episode four. Ideally, this is where we are aiming to get the character in the next few episodes. If you would like to watch the series, the link to our youtube page is on our profile.

I hope you enjoy this oneshot, because I loved writing it!

~Spades

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"Expecto Patronum," Arthur tried for the nineteenth time that morning. A silvery, transparent sheet wafted from the tip of his wand, barely rising a hands width before dispersing like smoke into the air. He panted, gripping his wand so tightly that the intricate carvings on the handle imprinted on his palm. "Expecto Patronum!" He shouted again, this time to no effect whatsoever. The spell had taken its toll, and Arthur let himself collapse back onto the petroleum cushions on his favourite arm chair.

"Bugger!" He snapped gratuitously at the empty fireplace, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the Syltherin common room. At least there was no one here to witness his failure, most students had classes and those with free periods were either catching up on much needed sleep or in the hall studying for their NEWTS.

It was rare to have the common room to himself, and normally when he did find himself alone (a surprisingly rare feat despite the enormity of the castle), he rather enjoyed the peace. Although he was grateful for the opportunity to practice in secret, it meant that there were no distractions; nothing to blame his inadequacy on and no one to shout at to stop fooling around and let him concentrate.

No. This one was entirely on him.

Defensive spells didn't come naturally to Arthur, but he'd never struggled with one so much in his life and, quite frankly, it was embarrassing. He excelled in all of his subjects, so to be sat there as his peers managed to create tight domes of wispy light, or worse, full bodied patronuses, was intolerably frustrating.

Jones had been the first one to get it right, of course. He was ridiculously good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and by their third lesson he had managed to summon a bald eagle which he proceeded to send soaring around the classroom for almost a full minute before having to stop. He'd been completely red faced after, as if the git had been holding his breath the entire time, and laughed as compliments flew at him from every direction.

Arthur had bitten the inside of his cheek and exhaled loudly through his nose when Alfred had the gall to actually smile his way, like he expected Arthur to be happy for him or something. He had looked down, fuming silently as he pretended to read the same page of his text book he had memorized days ago.

It was absurd! The two of them always ended up battling it out for the better grade at the end of every year. Alfred with his unnatural talent for spells and Arthur with papers that could have been written by professors. This time, however, Arthur had fallen behind. And what was worse was the amount of time he spent practicing DADA took hours away from his other studies.

His ranking would drop in every class simply because he refused to lose to Alfred F. Jones. Unfortunately, even Arthur had to admit that this way of thinking was unreasonable.

He resolved to retrieve his potions book. Yes. Certainly that would ease his frustrated mind.

However, half way down the stone steps a thought crossed him. He could always ask Jones how he managed it. After all, Alfred had come to him earlier that year with a request to help Vargas with his Charms assignment. A request that had caused his rank to drop in that very class. So, he owed him, in a way.

The only downside with asking Jones for help would be…. Asking Jones for help.

Even if he never told another soul about how Arthur begged him to teach him the spell, he would still be admitting to his rival that Alfred was better at this than he was. Alfred would deride him for it, perhaps for the rest of his life. So again he was faced with a difficult decision.

Pride or failure; failure was never an option.

Besides, if Alfred ever did tell anyone Arthur could always hex him. He knew enough of those.

However, even after resolving to seek Jones out, Arthur found that actually asking him was far harder than expected. It was as though someone had cast the lip lock jinx on him, because every time he passed Alfred in the halls or had class with him, his jaw snapped shut and no matter how he reasoned with himself, he was unable to will the words to come.

He would approach him, determined every time to see the task through, only to scoff or roll his eyes when Alfred shot him a smile or a disgustingly casual, "'sup?" He would reply in short that he was well, thank you, before leaving with the urge to slam the spine of his book into his skull.

Tuesday rolled around faster than expected and it seemed as though he was getting worse at the spell, if that was even possible. He had dreaded Tuesdays for the first month of their sixth year because prefects were supposed to patrol the corridors in pairs, and tonight was his shift with Alfred. At this stage the two of them managed to be civil, often talking about quidditch or what they'd read in the Daily Prophet that morning. Occasionally Alfred would complain about the insurmountable piles of homework he had to do, and Arthur would offer him unsympathetic advice that usually went along the lines of, "well, maybe if you spent less time on the pitch…." It always earned him a laugh, because they both knew that Alfred would take any jinx that could be dreamed up before he put down his quaffle.

As usual Arthur arrived first, waiting at the bottom of the moving stair cases which creaked and groaned as they ferried the last of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students to the higher levels of the castle. The portraits were chatting amongst themselves, many of them greeting Arthur cordially, having known him for the better part of six years. He was hardly up for making conversation though, fidgeting with his tie and robes.

Alfred arrived late, as expected, and as usual offered no explanation or apology. Just a quick, "hey man," and the suggestion that they should get going.

Arthur opened his mouth to greet him, to sigh and tell him that he thought that was best. Instead, he ended up snapping, almost shouting at the Gryffindor boy, "you owe me a favour, Jones!"

They looked at each other, equally startled by the declaration. "Mind your volume, dear." Came a gentle voice from the portrait of an elderly witch next to Arthur's head.

"Whoa, what did I do?" Alfred asked, wide eyed and looking almost offended by the outburst.

"Nothing! Well, you did something…. You got me to teach Vargas acheto menti at the beginning of the year which cost me my rank in charms first term, and I'm collecting that favor you promised."

"….I did what?" Now he just looked confused.

"You said, you owed me one."

"Okay. Wait. Are you asking me for a favor?"

"No! I'm collecting a debt."

Alfred fell silent, and Arthur could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to piece together the situation. "You need my help with something?" He asked slowly, sounding genuinely unsure of himself.

"Yes. Keep up. This isn't advanced potion making," Arthur drawled.

"Why didn't you say so? What do you need?"

"I did 'say so'. And before I tell you, I'll need you to swear you won't tell anyone I asked you for this."

Again, Alfred looked bewildered, brow quirked and sounding entirely suspicious as he asked. "Why?"

"Just promise."

"Alright," He shrugged, and for some reason Arthur believed him.

He took a deep breath, doing his best to keep eye contact with Alfred, whose irises he'd noted a long time ago looked like the sky on a warm, summer's day. "I've had a bit of trouble recently in Defence Against the Dark Arts. I wanted you to explain to me how you manage to cast the patronus charm. Or rather, I would like you to teach it to me."

Again, Alfred paused, looking mildly confused by the request, and then he laughed, not loud and over the top like he always did when he was surrounded by his friends, but quieter, more relieved than anything. "Ah man. Is that it? You're like, the fourth person to ask me for help with this."

Arthur huffed, lifting his head just a little as if standing with that bit of extra height could cancel out the embarrassment of coming to Alfred Jones, of all people, for help. "It's really not funny, Jones." He sighed, "What does your schedule look like tomorrow? Perhaps we can organize a time after lunch."

Alfred's smile widened a fracture and Arthur bristled at the mischievous air it instantly gave him. "I've got time now."

"No you do not. We are patrolling." He said, punctuating every word.

"Actually, we're not. Besides, it'll be quiet and we can use the Hall. Me and Feli go down to the kitchen all the time during patrol. We never get caught."

Arthur scrunched his nose at the idea, weighing up the odds of them getting in serious trouble for skimping out on their prefect duties, and Alfred making extra time to see him outside of class.

"I'm going to forget you just admitted to me that you shirk your responsibilities every time you're with Vargas," Arthur mumbled, "alright, let's just get this over with."

The Great Hall should have been creepy at night. Stone walls, tall statues and far too much space for just two people, like something out of Walpole or Stoker. It was silent too, save for the padding of their feet and the sound of their breath. The only light came from the enchanted ceiling where small stars illuminated the room just enough to cast long shadows of candles across empty table.

The door, which had opened upon request, swung shut behind them with a dull thud that echoed, vibrating off the walls and filling the room with sound, only to be snuffed out again by silence.

It would probably have terrified the boys on their first night and the castle, but Hogwarts was more of a home to them than their own family houses. It was nice to have the place to themselves.

"It's kind of tricky to get yourself into the headspace, but you'll pick it up quick."

"Quickly," Arthur couldn't help but correct. "Alright. Let's give it a go." He rolled back the sleeves on his robes before withdrawing his wand.

"Just take a deep breath and think back to your favorite memories. You need to have a pretty good picture in your head, you've really got to feel the spell," Alfred said, clenching his fist in front of him like snatching a snitch from the air, bringing to his chest and thumping a hand over his heart.

Arthur inhaled slowly, thinking back to his third year, the year he had come first in every class. Other kids glaring in his direction as the various professors praised his work. He even smiled to himself for added effect. "Expecto Patronum." He chanted, but again all that emitted from his wand was a whisper of the spell he intended.

He could feel his cheeks reddening in frustration. "Well. Is that the best advice you can offer? Take a deep breath and think happy thoughts?"

"Kind of. Yeah. You have to clear your mind."

"I suppose that isn't hard for someone like you."

"You're right. It's not. I don't get so God damn hung up on things. Geez Arthur, you have to commit. The memory has to be powerful."

"It is! Fine then! What do you think about?" Arthur snapped.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat and for a moment he looked uncharacteristically conflicted, maybe even upset. But the expression vanished almost instantly, and he managed a short laugh, shaking his head. "Dude…. You're not supposed to ask that."

"Why not?"

"Uh. Because it's kind of personal." Alfred said, matter-of-factly.

"Uh. They're happy memories." Arthur mimicked Alfred's tone. "How personal can they really be?"

"Well, what are you thinking about?"

"Receiving my results in third year."

Alfred snorted, actually rolling his eyes. Clearly he'd been hanging out with Arthur too much recently, adopting his snarkiness. "Come on, that can't be your happies memory. Dig deeper."

Arthur stiffened, pressing his lips in a tight line. Being berated by Alfred for his spell work was a first. Certainly not something he planned on getting used to. "How do you expect me to follow without example?"

This seemed to strike a chord with Alfred, and after a moment he nodded slowly a couple of times. "Fair point," He chuckled, taking a seat on the Ravenclaw table with his feet propped up on the long bench they sat on every morning, afternoon and night. "Okay. It's just not a story I tell people."

"If you're asking me to keep it a secret, I will. Who would I tell anyway?"

Alfred nodded again, looking down and the floor and rested his elbows against his knees, hunched over almost shyly. He was fiddling with his wand, handle in one hand and tip in the other, twirling it between his fingers. "Yeah. Okay. So when I was a kid, I mean like eight, maybe. We lived kind of out of the city, maybe a half hour flight in dad's car. Anyways, this muggle family bought farm land just a few acres away, and they had this kid, Davie. I met him when I was out on their land, picking up sticks for the fire or something, I don't know, whatever my parents asked me to do to get me out of the house."

Alfred paused, smiling a private sort of smile, one that was reserved only for the deepest of thoughts. "I knew a couple of other kids and Mattie and I played all the time, but Davie was my first best friend. My parents didn't like it. They don't have anything against no maj- I mean muggles, and like, they were really nice to him when he came over, but they were worried something was going to happen. I wasn't allowed to tell him about magic obviously, and I didn't. I liked his house better anyway. He had video games, which you've probably never played, but they're awesome fun. He taught me a lot and we hung out probably every day."

Alfred paused again, shrugging. "So yeah, one day we were out the front kicking a ball around; and his house faced onto this massive highway, which was usually pretty quiet, but the road was such a mess. Didn't notice as a kid, but Davey's house was in the worst place, just below this crest. So muggles would speed over this big ass hill and you'd better not be crossing when they were. But of course this one day Davey ran to get the ball I over shot just as this Ute was coming up over the hill. That was the first time I ever used magic. I somehow made it to him just before the car did and slammed my hands against the bumper."

Alfred dropped his wand into his lap and threw his hands out, palms flat. "Like that," he grinned. "Stopped the car in its tracks and put a giant dent in the front of it. Raised a lot of questions and the ministry turned up pretty soon after… But for I don't know, about an hour, I was able to be completely honest with Davie, and he wasn't scared. He said I was like a super hero and that he was glad people like me existed."

"They wiped his memory after that, and my parents moved closer to London because they thought it would be better for me and Mattie. Never forgot about Davie though."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, surprised to find that he meant it. Alfred was smiling. Really smiling, lips stretched so far that he squinted like he had the sun in his eyes. "I'm not sure I understand how that is a happy memory for you. Sounds tragic really."

Alfred made a 'so-so' gesture with his hand and looked up, turning his ever bright smile towards the artificial ceiling. "Well, that was the moment I decided what I wanted to do with my life. Davie called me a hero, and for a minute I kind of felt like one. Helping people makes me happy, and it sucks that Davie had to lose his memories, but I think the whole thing made me, me. Hard to be sad about that. Every time I remember it I feel purpose again, I know it might sound lame, but I really feel like a hero." He looked at Arthur who approached him to take a seat on the bench below, hands clamped together in his lap.

He looked guilty, felt it even. It suddenly made sense to him why Alfred chose to keep that memory private, it was as though he had pried it out of him. Like he had ripped open a seam to get a glimpse of his soul. A part of Alfred that made him who he was, and a part that he hadn't been ready to share. "I can see why you kept that to yourself. I didn't realize the memory was so personal

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm so-."

"It's fine," Alfred didn't seem to want to accept his apology, weak as it was. The memory still played on his face, making him look happy in a sort of nostalgic way. "So, uh… do you have any memories like that? You don't have to say it out loud or anything, but keep them in mind." He pointed to his chest, "Let them fill you up right here. I know it's not easy for most people, but you'll get the hang of it. Don't worry."

Arthur looked to his side with a weighing sort of understanding. How he could have let himself believe that those superficial moments of triumph would be powerful enough seemed almost juvenile now. But admitting to himself that there were moments outside of himself, moments where his connection to other people shaped his experiences, and himself, was not something that came naturally. Moments of pure understanding and love.

Alfred lifted his wand when Arthur refused to return his attention to him, and the silence of the room became almost too suffocating to bare. "Expecto patronum."

A silver eagle burst from the tip of his wand in a pulsing, silver light. Rising into the air, it flapped its transparent wings, circling around the hall before coming to rest beside Arthur, fading as quickly as it was summoned. Arthur turned his head to it, lashes fanned low still as he tried to keep his eyes off of Alfred until the last possible moment.

"I think I understand," he said, although he sounded uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

"Sweet. Go for it," Alfred grinned, and Arthur knew he owed him that much. He couldn't repay that debt, he could barely admit to himself what his best memories were, let alone to another person. The least he could do, after Alfred had shared something so personal with him, was learn from it.

He raised his wand, took a deep breath and closed his eyes, blocking out the world, his present. He remembered the first time he'd gotten the top marks in a subject, but this time he wasn't focused on the grade, or the way it annoyed his peers, he focused on the letter he'd received the next morning from his father. Four words stuck out of the rather dry and mundane note, those were, 'I'm proud of you.' The first time he could remember those words coming from him, and they were in ink.

Permanent.

Irreversible.

He remembered the end of his first year, being picked up at the station, not by a relative or house elf, but by his mother, who was so overjoyed that for a moment she forgot that she was part of the reserved, wizarding elite and hugged him tightly in the crowded station for all the world to see.

It was like something had splintered inside of him, and the crack burst open, memories flooding his mind and filling him with the happiness that he never allowed himself to feel. Those feelings weren't practical, they didn't motivate him to become a better wizard. They just were… and Arthur felt them so acutely in that moment.

Feliciano hugging him after he had passed charms, Francis complementing his eyes, Gilbert promising to look out for him in first year, and Alfred giving him that tackily wrapped Christmas present.

Arthur felt an unyielding sort of heat flare through him and with a voice on the verge of trembling, he shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

A burst of ethereal light shot out, forming a dome of silver. It curled around him, his own thoughts becoming a shield from the deepest of evils, and beside him Alfred was cheering, clapping his hands together like a first year at a quidditch match.

"Yeah! You did it!" He said, flashing Arthur a thumbs up and a grin that he couldn't help but return. He held out for as long as he could, arm beginning to shake from the force of it. After a minute the spell more than took its toll and Arthur dropped back, catching himself on the edge of the table before lowering himself onto the bench and heaving a few deep breaths. "You did awesome!"

If his cheeks weren't already flushed from exertion, they certainly would have from that, grammatically incorrect, compliment. He chuckled, still struggling to regain his breath, but managed a small, "Thank you."

"What was that?"

"Thank you."

"Come again?"

Arthur laughed, "Sod off, Jones!" And Alfred laughed with him.

"Okay, but thank you for what? Being an awesome teacher?"

"For being a bad influence." Alfred just waggled his brows, unrepentant it seemed, and Arthur shook his head with just a touch of fondness. "You're utterly hopeless." But, he decided, the world would be a better place with more people like Alfred in it. At the very least it would be a happier place.

Alfred hummed, even insults couldn't tarnish his invincibly merry mood. "And you aren't as frigid as you pretend to be," Arthur's grin began to fade just as Alfred amended himself. "You've got a great smile."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Alfred rolled his eyes, like he thought Arthur was trying to play the same trick on him. "We should probably head back. Patrol shouldn't have taken this long."

"Um. Right," Arthur said, storing his wand and following Alfred to the door.

"I mean it though," Arthur felt his heart catch in his throat, only to sink as he continued. "You did good."

He took a patient breath, "I did 'well'. But, I've hardly mastered it, have I? Although I'm sure I can manage the fine tuning myself."

"If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, although it sounded like the sort of fair-weathered promise one made when they really didn't expect to follow through. "Wonder what your patronus is."

Arthur had been thinking about that too. "I'm not sure."

"You have to let me see it when you've got it down."

Instinctively Arthur almost told him that he would certainly show Alfred should he encounter him getting his soul sucked out of his mouth, but stopped himself. "I suppose I owe you that much," he said instead as they reached the stair cases that would lead them to their respective dorms.

"Awesome," Alfred clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture that still put Arthur on edge. "Have a good night, Artie." He teased, winking at him before hopping on the stair case as it swooped by.

Arthur huffed, never impressed by the nickname, when something came over him. Perhaps it was pride in needing to have the last word, or maybe it was that lingering affection for Alfred that never quite went away. Whatever it was, it stirred something inside him, and in a moment of reckless familiarity or poor judgement he cupped his hand to his mouth and called after him.

"Good night, Alfred."

He caught a glimpse of surprise on his face before Alfred was lifted out of view and Arthur chuckled to himself. In fact, he smiled all the way back to his dorm.

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Thanks for reading! If there are any other stories you would like to hear about these characters, or others from the Pottertalia universe, leave the request in a review, or shoot us a private message!


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